


There Will Be No Tenderness

by Pluppelina



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brief mention of repeated infidelity, Edward is a meglomanic bastard, M/M, Not that Jonathan appears to mind, POV Second Person, kismesitude in the making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pluppelina/pseuds/Pluppelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that you mind the morning after, or that you're afraid he'll hog the covers, or that he probably makes disgusting coffee. It's not that you're afraid you'd have to face your feelings or the reality of the situation or any other ridiculous thing normal people fear. It's just that hurting him makes you feel so much better than being kind to him does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Will Be No Tenderness

You have no idea why you have this pathological need to be mean to him. No, really. You’ve been to shrinks, of course, many shrinks, but being honest with a shrink is like bleeding in the proximity of a shark; sure, it might turn out that you had some kind of cancer in the part of your body the shark eventually bites off, but it is really more likely to be a part you frankly loved and will dearly miss. It might also turn out that they will remove this bit even without the blood, but it sure can’t hurt to be taking every precaution possible. So no, you do honestly not know why it is you have to kick him to the floor.

“You know that sinking feeling you sometimes get the morning after?” you ask him, conversationally, as his head pops up over the edge of the bed, hair everywhere, staring at you.

“Let me guess,” he says dryly. “It arrived early.”

“Yeah,” you answer, pleased with the way he took the bait, “so I kicked it out of bed.”

The thing his face does when he looks hurt but tries to cover it up with a cocky grin is simply spectacular, and yeah, alright, maybe that has a little something to do with the mean thing, and yeah, alright, maybe you did know that before. But if you had admitted to that, you wouldn’t have gotten to show off your brilliant metaphor, now would you?

“That’s funny,” he says, with that cocky smile back on, the one you love wiping off his face like nothing else, “because I’m quite sure it’s you who’s got it now, not me.”  
You let it slide because you’re just polite like that and watch him get into his clothes again. Backwards, this process, quite backwards and as such uninteresting. His face while he’s riding you, the utter insane bliss on his face, flashes before your eyes for a moment and you irritably swat it away in the manner one might an irritating fly. It’s been happening a lot lately, especially with others, and you really have no idea why this time. No, really. No brilliant simile this time, not because you couldn’t think of one, of course you could, but just to underline the honesty of the statement. You can honestly not think of any sane reason why you would picture him while having sex with others, sane being a concept put into relation to your normal state of mind rather than the normal state of mind. He interrupts you.

“What, no kiss good bye?” he teases from the doorway. That is the biggest mystery of all, so big in fact that it hardly seems possible to solve; why he still puts up with you, in that way he does, with a wink and a smile or a hard core and a polite façade, when you treat him like utter bullshit. Well yeah that was a rather obvious lie, wasn’t it, because anyone would put up with you, you really are the best, aren’t you?

“Get the fuck out,” you tell him as if the concept of kissing him is the most disgusting thing on the planet. Inside your head, he’s still moaning your name.

“You’ll be thinking about me when I’m gone.” The words are called from the hallway while he slips his shoes on and this is a routine you don’t even have to think about anymore.

“I wasn’t thinking about you when you were here,” you shoot back, but somehow, as if repeating them after every encounter you’ve had will put a different value in them, they are starting to sound peculiarly much like “I love you too”.


End file.
